


discover us safely

by radialarch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky hadn't known it'd be so easy, getting on his knees for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	discover us safely

**Author's Note:**

> Love to Sara & Kora for helping me get over various issues.
> 
> Sort of a thematic companion to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1711379), if you'd like.

There’s a door that Bucky knows of, set in a London alley wall. He’s never gone through it, but he knows what’ll be there. Brooklyn, London, it’s all the same in the end: dimmed lights, and men who look at each other, furtively, swallowing down alcohol until it washes away the shame in their throats.

Bucky knows of it, and tries not to think about it during long winter nights. Desire is one thing but as long as he keeps it between his teeth no one needs to know there’s something wrong with him.

He manages, like he’d managed between the dockyard and factories, like he’d managed in basic, from _private_ and _sergeant_ — he manages like he’d managed once back in England, in North Africa and Italy — that is, badly. He doesn’t manage at all, wound up tight between training and Steve looking at him with large, worried eyes.

Steve’s eyes are the only things that have stayed the same. The rest of him is a tall, handsome stranger.

Steve looks at Bucky like Bucky’s the one who’s changed. The problem is that Bucky hasn’t changed enough, still scared and weak enough to want things he shouldn’t.

So it’s no surprise, in the end, when Bucky breaks. The commandos have got a two day furlough and Steve’s off with the brass; Bucky laces his boots nearly too tight and stumbles his way through the London fog, pretends he doesn’t know where he’s going.

There’s low music playing and cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air. Bucky’s two steps through the door and just turned down an eager private when he raises his head and spots a set of broad shoulders pulled up at the bar.

He’s still getting used to the sight of Steve’s new body, but he knows — he staggers with a palm pressed flat to the wall. The light is golden on Steve’s hair and the air is thin in Bucky’s lungs, sharp and aching no matter how hard he tries to draw in a breath.

Steve isn’t — he’s _not_ —

— here —

When Bucky’s vision flattens back into something normal he looks up and Steve is still there, a hand casually wrapped around a glass. His head is swiveling around and when he sees Bucky a brief, brilliant smile passes over his mouth.

Bucky breathes through his nose and something in him goes cold and clear.

If Steve’s here, there must be a good reason for it. So when Steve jerks his chin up at him, Bucky takes a moment to slide a grin on his face and goes.

“Can I buy you a drink, soldier?”

Steve laughs softly. “Heya,” he says. “Got something to tell me?”

Steve’s body is angled toward the gents. Bucky looks at the door, cracked and splintered, and then back at Steve. “Oh, bit more than that, I think,” he says, without meaning to, and tugs Steve up from his stool. “Come on.”

Steve rises up without any resistance. There’s something heady about that, Steve following him, no questions, his wrist loose in Bucky’s grasp. He feels like he’s shaking all over but his hands are steady as he shoulders the door open and pushes Steve into the first open stall he sees.

Steve makes a soft noise when Bucky presses him down onto the toilet and slides to his knees.

“Buck, what’re you—”

“Shh,” Bucky says, without quite knowing what he’s saying. “Trust me.”

That’s the last thing he says before he tugs Steve’s trousers open and presses his mouth to Steve’s cock. His hands are curled around Steve’s legs, his thumb just brushing the soft skin on the inside of Steve’s thighs. He opens his mouth wider as Steve starts to stir on his tongue, presses forward until his forehead is pressing into Steve’s stomach.

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs above him. His hands settle around Bucky’s head: thumb pressing against Bucky’s ears, his fingertips at Bucky’s jaw. He’s looking down at Bucky, eyes uncertain and with a questioning tilt to his head, but Bucky doesn’t know how to answer — he doesn’t even know if he has one.

Bucky has the scent of Steve in his nose and the taste of him on his tongue. The zipper of Steve’s trousers is pressing into his cheek and the tiled floor is hard against his knees but Bucky just digs his fingers more firmly into Steve’s thighs, runs his tongue up the underside of Steve’s cock and watches the line of Steve’s throat tremble with the effort of not making a sound.

Steve's eyes slide closed, bit by bit. Bucky laps at the head of Steve's cock, gently, and it's not a surprise at all to realize that he wants, wants _this_ , Steve's hands in his hair and Steve in his mouth.

It’s not the first time Bucky’s done this; he’s gotten on his knees for strangers, for men he didn’t care to know, save that they’d been cut from the same wrong cloth as him. But it’s different now — it’s Steve, and Bucky’s never going to have this chance again but the memory of it might be enough for him.

Steve's fingers brush against the back of Bucky's neck and Bucky thinks, _it's okay, it's okay_.

He doesn't know what's going to happen at the end of this — if Steve will look at him with his lips pressed into a line, too kind to say what he should. He doesn't need to think about it. All that matters is that Steve is above him, mouth round and parted, and nothing's ever felt quite this good.

Bucky slides his hands around Steve's hips, urges Steve deeper into his throat, and Steve moves willingly, soft exhales spilling out of his mouth. Bucky closes his eyes because he doesn't — he doesn't have the right to look at Steve like this, laid bare and open.

When Steve comes Bucky swallows, wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, and he is, suddenly, afraid. He carefully tucks Steve back into his pants and doesn't look up.

"Bucky," Steve says breathlessly, "Buck, come here, _c'mere_ ," and Steve's hands are under Bucky's arms, lifting him up, up; Steve’s grasping him tight like he’s afraid of letting go and he is kissing Bucky.

It’s strange, having Steve’s mouth fitted against his; he can feel Steve’s breathing against his face, Steve tentatively licking at his lips, and Bucky’s never — not in Brooklyn, not in London, and he never would have dared think of kissing Steve, at all.

“Is this okay,” Steve says. Like he needs to ask, like Bucky hasn’t already—

Bucky presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “Stupid,” he mutters into the soft skin there, and he doesn’t know who he means. Maybe it doesn’t matter. He hears Steve laugh quietly, warmly, and that’s enough, regardless.

They kiss for a long time. Bucky’s elbows keep knocking into the walls of the stall and his knees are pressing into the flesh of Steve’s thighs, but it’s hard to mind when Steve’s mouth is skimming along the line of his jaw, when Steve is murmuring nonsense against his skin. Steve’s hands are stroking his sides, dragging the fabric of Bucky’s shirt against his torso, and he feels like he’s about to burst into fire, like he’s too big for his own skin.

The bar closes, eventually. As they come out blinking into the night air, Steve crowds Bucky against the alley wall, catching hold of Bucky’s hand. He rubs the skin of Bucky’s wrist with his thumb. “You never had—” he laughs a little. “You just. Came here.”

Bucky looks at him; nods carefully.

“Buck, you know I—” Steve’s voice turns suddenly frantic. His mouth is open but no more sounds come out of it, and he’s looking at Bucky like he needs Bucky to know.

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky says thickly. “I — yeah.”

It’s enough, when Steve kisses him again, hands sliding under Bucky’s jacket to settle above his heart. It is.


End file.
